


A Lick and a Promise

by Persiflager



Series: It Started Quietly [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:51:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/7277.html?thread=36141677">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme that asked for Lestrade finding out that no one has ever rimmed John and rectifying this.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/453213">'It's Oh So Quiet'</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lick and a Promise

**Eighteen months ago**

Greg wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve being stuck at Baker Street watching gay porn with a man he quietly fancied and that man’s spectacular prat of a flatmate, but he was sure that it would, on closer inspection, turn out to be Sherlock’s fault.

Sherlock sat at his desk staring intently at the flesh-coloured images moving obscenely on the screen of his laptop. Greg kept his eyes trained firmly on the back of Sherlock’s head.

“Is this really necessary?”

“If you want to catch your missing forger, yes,” said Sherlock without taking his eyes from the screen. “The timestamp on the latest video shows that it was made the day before he disappeared and the curtains don’t match the ones in his flat.”

“Any luck?” asked John as he came back into the room and leant forward to look over Sherlock’s shoulder. Greg couldn’t help noticing that his jeans were as tight as his ridiculous cardigan was baggy, and took a mental snapshot to add to his collection.

Sherlock shook his head. “I can’t see the background properly. Oh goody, another close-up of his penis.”

“Well, that is one of the drawbacks of these things. Not enough focus on the decor.”

Greg snickered at that, and shared an amused look with John before he forced himself to turn his attention back to Sherlock. He really didn’t need to be getting distracted right now and, relatively speaking, Sherlock was a cold shower while John was a very warm shower indeed. A hot, steamy, naked shower …

Greg blinked. “Right. And explain to me again why the curtains matter?”

Sherlock let out a small sigh. “If the curtains don’t match the flat, then where was he? It’s not a hotel, not with those photos up on the wall, which means that he recorded it at someone else’s home, most likely the home of the other person in the films, who he obviously trusts not to disclose the fact that he habitually makes amateur pornography and uploads it on the internet. You said yourself that he keeps to himself and doesn’t have any close friends or family, so who would he go to if he needed to disappear? Obviously his pornographic partner. Or ‘gaylord69’, as he appears to be more commonly known.” 

Greg decided that he wouldn’t add anything by squeezing round the laptop. “I’m going to give Sally a call, see how she’s getting on with the neighbour interviews.” There was no response, and he escaped to the kitchen with relief. 

The thing is, it wasn’t like he was mooning around with a massive crush (he was a married man and a professional, for fuck’s sake, even if his marriage was a bit rocky at the moment). He liked John (ok, a _lot_ ) and found him attractive, and mostly that just meant enjoying his company at the pub and getting a decent ogle in when he wouldn’t get caught. It didn’t generally come up at work because, unlike some people, he didn’t find crime much of a turn-on.

This fact that this particular case had trapped him in a room with John, an erection, and the world’s most observant man was proof of what he’d always suspected; that God had a sense of humour, and it involved watching him suffer.

………………….

Ten minutes later he’d finished catching up with the various members of his team and headed back into the living room to see how John and Sherlock were getting on.

“Good _god_ , that’s unhygienic,” said Sherlock. Greg paused and decided to wait at a safe distance in case he saw something he’d wish he hadn’t.

“And this is coming from the man who stores body parts in the bread bin.”

“The odds of pathogens being transmitted are extremely low, as you well know, and that is for science. I find it difficult to believe that any sensible analysis of the risks and rewards would conclude in favour of having someone’s tongue up your arse.”

John shrugged.

“There you go,” said Sherlock, “you haven’t done it, so clearly you agree with me and are just being argumentative for the sake of it.”

“I haven’t done it _yet_ ,” corrected John. “Not exactly a first-date activity, which is all I seem to have these-“

“Oh!” Sherlock pointed at the screen. “Do you see that?”

Greg stepped forward. “Have you got something?”

“That red light flashing on the wall – they must have forgotten to draw the curtains. That’s the blinking pattern of One Canada Square. We heard river noises on one of the earlier videos, so we’re looking for a Canary Wharf flat by the river. Now if we calculate the height-”

“Wasn’t there a Canary Wharf address in his client contact list?” interrupted John. Greg was already on his phone and heading out the door, the other two close behind him, and all thoughts of rimming were driven out of his head.

Hours later, they’d caught and arrested his suspect and Greg was at home alone in bed (his wife being away again with work). He didn’t quite feel sleepy yet so started having a wank. As he was half-heartedly pulling at his cock, the overheard conversation from earlier floated to the top of his mind.

_Imagine being the first person to rim John. Imagine being the first person to eat out that arse. I bet he’d love it. He’d beg for my tongue, and then he’d beg for my cock. I’d spread his legs wide and lick him out so well that straight-as-a-ruler John Watson would beg for me to fuck him. And I would, oh god I would. I’d fuck him so hard, and he would come from my cock like the sluttiest bottom to ever get fucked. I bet he’s never had a cock up his arse before , but he’d love mine so much that he’d bend over and take it and beg for more._

Greg came with a startled groan, his hips lifting clean off the bed as he came all over his stomach.

 

**Now**

Greg tipped over into wakefulness with a yawn and lay listening to the rain, eyes tightly closed in an effort to cling onto the last vestiges of sleep. After a few minutes he came to the pleasant realisation that neither his alarm clock nor his phone was going off, which meant that he didn’t have to go to work and could therefore enjoy the luxury of a rare lie-in.

He opened his eyes just enough to see the back of a head with fair-to-greying hair and a small ear in front of him. _Oh, that’s right, John slept here last night._ He resisted the impulse to cuddle. Thinking back to the previous night, he vaguely remembered beer, chips, licking the salt off John’s lips, and dragging him back home for a quick shag. Afterwards, he’d come back from the bathroom to find John fast asleep and hadn’t had the heart to wake him up.

_Maybe this doesn’t mean anything; after all, he does seem to fall asleep pretty easily. Still, nice not to wake up alone for a change. Should I cook breakfast? Fuck it, I’m starving._

Greg climbed out of bed gingerly. John yawned and made an interrogative sound.

“Tea?”

John hummed happily in response. Greg pulled on yesterday’s boxer shorts, and went to investigate the contents of his fridge.

...................

After examining the half-pack of bacon that was left and deciding that it was now unacceptably green, Greg settled for tea and a packet of digestive biscuits he found hiding in a drawer. As the kettle boiled and he made the two cups of tea (nearly adding sugar to one out of habit before he remembered not to) he was struck by déjà vu. He’d made the tea nearly every morning of his married life. He could still remember the first time – in a Greek villa on the first morning of their honeymoon, using tea-bags Annie had squeezed into her suitcase next to her fancy lace nightie.

After a decade of marriage, was there anything that wouldn’t have the shade of his ex hanging over it? 

He heard John moving about and it occurred to him that John must have plenty of his own ghosts; Greg hadn’t asked, but everyone had baggage at their age, and he’d got the impression that there were more than a few notches on John’s bedpost. 

That thought niggled at the back of his mind. He finished making the tea and then stood there, barefoot on the cold laminate floor as he ate a biscuit and tried to work out what that reminded him of-

Oh. His face burned as he remembered that fantasy of – what, over a year ago? _Jesus._ He’d been too embarrassed to look John in the eyes for days after, ashamed of the insecurity it showed – _my wife won’t touch me any more, so I’ll imagine that you fancy me so much it turns you gay._ It hadn’t stopped him re-visiting it every night for a week, though. Then Annie had left him for the first time, and he’d been so busy with his life going to shit that he’d forgotten all about it.

 _Now,_ though. Now it wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Now it was … a fucking brilliant idea. 

………………………

Greg walked back into the bedroom to find John sitting up and texting. He still looked fairly bleary-eyed and his hair was ridiculously rumpled, but he had managed to put his t-shirt on.

“Morning,” he said as he walked round and carefully put one of the mugs and a saucer of biscuits down on the floor beside John.

“Mm, thanks.” John popped a biscuit in his mouth.

Greg nodded in response as he walked back round to his side, put his tea down on the bedside table, turned the radiator on and climbed in. They sat there in silence for a moment as Greg waited for the tea to cool and John tapped away at his phone.

“Any prizes for guessing who that is?” he asked eventually. He wasn’t annoyed, exactly, but he had hoped that there’d be less chance of getting cock-blocked in his own flat.

John grimaced. “Sorry. If I don’t reply, he’ll probably just come round here and pick the lock on the door.”

Greg picked up his tea and blew on it. “Speaking of your flatmate, did he mention that he gave me a talking to last week?”

“What about?”

“You.”

A horrified expression crossed John’s face. “No. Really? Oh god.”

“Oh yes,” said Greg, taking a sip of his too-hot tea. “Threatened all sorts of horrible things if I broke your heart. I kept expecting him to bring out a shotgun, he was getting that into it.”

John snorted. “Yes, he would enjoy that. “ He looked at Greg for a moment. “Didn’t put you off then?”

“Christ no,” said Greg with feeling as he held John’s gaze before breaking away to take another sip of his tea. To be honest, the combination of Sherlock’s raking stare and his very specific threats had been fucking _terrifying,_ but Greg wasn’t about to admit that – partly because he had image to maintain, and partly because he felt that in some obscure way he’d be losing points. He wasn’t sure that he did want to compete with Sherlock for John’s time and attention, but he wasn’t going to throw in the towel before he started. Unspoken rule number one – no tattling.

“So, does this mean you need to dash off?” he asked eventually. Thinking about Sherlock had made his cock wilt a bit but the spirit was still willing and he didn’t think it would take much to get it back again.

John pressed one last button and put the phone down. “I’m meeting Harry for lunch and I’ll need to pop home for some clean clothes before that, but apart from that I’m free.” He looked at Greg with a steady, open gaze.

Greg glanced at his alarm clock. Twenty past ten – plenty of time. “Good. That’s … good.”

There were a lot of things that Greg liked about John’s face, but the way it could be amused, suspicious and lustful all at the same time was definitely in the top ten. 

……………………………

Because he was a gentleman, Greg got in the shower first and ran the water until it was warm.

“Come on then.” He gestured invitingly.

From his vantage point of the doorway, John looked doubtful. “I really don’t think there’s room.”

“Of course there is. Anyway, you’re only small.”

John crossed his arms. 

“Come on,” wheedled Greg, backing up against the cold tile wall to make space. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

John didn’t look all that impressed, but he stripped off and squeezed into the cubicle. 

It was a tight fit. John was pressed against his front from neck to knees, eyes firmly shut against the spray ricocheting off Greg’s head. It was more awkward than sexy, if he was being strictly honest, but Greg was nothing if not an optimist.

He pulled the shower head off the holder and used it to get their hair wet before putting it back on the holder and pulling the holder down a bit so that it wasn’t getting in John’s eyes. He grabbed the only bottle in the shower (green, three-in-one, with an acceptably masculine smell of mint), lathered his hair up and started doing the same to John.

John opened his eyes a crack. “Are you … washing my hair?”

Greg paused, hands soapy and tangled in John’s hair. “Maybe.” He took in John’s slight frown and felt suddenly mischievous. “Ssh,” he crooned, “and be a good boy for daddy.”

John’s expression was _priceless._

Greg didn’t manage to keep a straight face for long, and John cracked up soon after.

“Oh god,” he wheezed in between laughs. “That was terrifying. I swear to god, that’s the least sexy thing anyone has ever said to me. My cock nearly went back inside.”

Greg grinned. “Close your eyes while I rinse.”

John obeyed, still shaking with laughter. When the lather had rinsed away, Greg picked up the bottle again and started soaping up their bodies. It was nice, having a different perspective – he’d not fully appreciated John’s strong shoulders before, or his smooth neck, or the sheer perfection of the curve where his back sloped into his bum.

“I want to lick your arse out,” he said suddenly, mouth pressed against John’s ear.

John stilled. 

Greg’s hands rubbed more frothy soap over and between John’s buttocks as he kept talking, emboldened by the close space and the way his words were almost hidden under the sound of running water. “I want to get my tongue right in _here,_ ” he said, pushing just the tip of his index finger in, “until you beg.”

John didn’t say anything, but he spread his legs just a little bit wider. 

Greg pulled his finger out and stroked both hands down John’s crack, spreading his arse cheeks so that he could watch a rivulet of soapy water run down between them.

“Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “Like that.” He picked up the shower handle with one hand and directed it over their bodies to get rid of the remaining soap while one hand stayed possessively on John’s arse, fingers buried in the cleft and gently stroking over his squeaky clean hole.

..............................

Five minutes later he sat on the bed admiring the sight of John on his hands and knees. It was deceptive, John’s spare, efficient body – you didn’t really notice the muscles until they were tensed, then you couldn’t look at anything else.

Speaking of tense, he couldn’t help noticing that John wasn’t exactly relaxed right now. Being stared at probably wasn’t helping, but _honestly_ ; if ever a man’s backside begged to be covered in come, it was John’s.

“I can see you, you know,” said John, looking at Greg from between his legs. “Stop that.”

Greg reluctantly stopped stroking his cock.

“Don’t blame me; you’re the one with the lovely bum.”

“Yes, well, I’m going to take my lovely bum home soon if you don’t get a move on.”

Greg rolled his eyes and shuffled forward so that he was between John’s legs. They were warm and still slightly damp from the shower. He pressed a kiss to the top of each buttock and nudged John’s knees further apart, mindful of the ticklish backs.

John lowered himself down onto his forearms, canting his arse upwards in mute invitation.

Grinning, Greg squeezed John’s buttocks before spreading them wide to admire the sight of his delicately pink arsehole. He smoothed down the light sprinkling of fair hairs and tapped lightly with one thumb. John’s arsehole quivered and Greg pressed down, stopping just short of enough pressure to push it in.

When John shifted his hips so as to push himself back, Greg took his thumb away. 

“Tease.”

“Tart.”

“Oi!”

“I mean that in a nice way. I like that you’re a tart.”

“You can kiss my arse, and I mean _that_ in the nicest possible way.”

“Well, if you insist …”

Greg hunkered down so that his mouth was in position and gently blew hot breath over John’s hole until his skin came up in goose-bumps. Greg breathed out again, using his thumbs to stroke the soft surrounding skin, then licked his lips and placed a wet kiss right in the centre.

John exhaled in a shuddering rush. 

Greg ducked his head a little and licked at John’s perineum with the broad flat of his tongue before sweeping all the way up to his tailbone, and then back down again with the rough underside. John’s hole fluttered a little for want of attention. Greg gave it another kiss, letting his bottom lip drag and linger there.

“Oh god,” whispered John. “More of that please.”

Greg dragged his tongue round the crinkled rim, then tensed it and poked the tip in. He licked around again as John moaned quietly, then slowly penetrated more deeply, darting in and out, lapping and laving at John’s snug arsehole with greedy, loving licks.

When Greg was sixteen and studying for his O-levels, his parents had sent him to Toulouse to stay with relatives for the summer so that he could practise his French. Alain, a bookish nineteen-year-old home from his second year studying economics in Paris (and referred to disapprovingly as ‘une tapette’ by Greg’s uncle), had found something more interesting to teach a gauche English boy than conjugated verbs. When Greg finally put his mouth to Alain’s arse and reduced his cool, sophisticated cousin to sobs and coarse French swear-words, the rush of power had been so heady that he’d come untouched all over Alain’s hairy thighs. 

John wasn’t swearing, but his gasps and groans were loud enough. Greg pulled back a little to look at his handiwork. John’s crack and perineum were sodden, the fair hairs now dark with saliva, and his arsehole was pinkly swollen, wet and open and trusting. 

_Christ_. That sight caught him in the gut as well as in his balls, twisting something inside of him that he’d thought had rusted shut with disuse. It was even better than he’d dreamed of all those months ago, because this would be something that John would remember for a long time to come. Greg still didn’t know what it was, this thing between them, and he wasn’t going to ask when he didn’t know what he wanted it to be, but he was absolutely 100% sure that he didn’t want to be easily forgotten. His name wasn’t just going to be another notch on a bedpost; it was going to be the name that John shouted when a tongue up his arse shook his world apart.

He pushed his index finger in and watched in wonder as it disappeared smoothly inside John’s body.

“ _Fuck!_ ” John’s voice was cracked as if he’d been shouting. He took one hand off the headboard and reached for his cock, but Greg batted it away.

“Not yet.”

John’s head hung down. Greg realised that his back was beaded with sweat. He leant forward and licked up John’s spine, tasting salt.

“Just give me a minute,” he murmured, pushing a second finger in and twisting them in a unkind tease. 

“ _Greg_. You really need to fuck me right now. _Please._ ”

John’s desperate pleading went straight to Greg’s cock. He scrabbled down by the side of the bed and seconds later rolled a condom on, biting his lip and squeezing the base of his cock to stop himself from coming –now that his attention had been drawn to it, he was very aware of just how close he was. He slathered on a good handful of lube and lined himself up before hesitating.

“Do you need me to-”

John pushed back, and Greg bit back a groan as the head of his cock slipped in.

“I said _now_.” 

Greg obeyed, watching wide-eyed as his cock disappeared inside John’s tight arse in one slow, impossible slide. 

_God_ , did that feel good. More friction than normal, more heat, more _everything_. Almost like fucking bare. He withdrew at the same leisurely pace before snapping his hips forward, fucking a low grunt out of John. He almost didn’t want to move – surely, _surely_ nothing could feel better than this - but made himself settle into a steady rhythm of deliciously slow thrusts even as he prayed for the self-control to not come in the first minute.

John didn’t make it any easier by being so stunningly responsive. Every movement wrung luscious sighs and whines from him as he writhed on Greg’s cock, sounding as surprised and delighted as if he’d never been fucked before. 

Greg felt like an absolute fucking sex god.

It was selfish, but he kept his hands firmly gripping John’s arse and away from his cock, wanting to keep him on this precipice for as long as possible. Greg himself was so close that each shivery-hot stroke promised to make him come with teasing throbs of pleasure that pulsed throughout his body. Then John, impossibly, started to tighten.

“Oh god, I’m _coming_ ,” whined John as his body tensed. Not quite believing him, Greg slipped a hand underneath just in time to feel splashes of hot semen across his palm. Holy _fuck_.

He abandoned all thought of restraint and slammed into John, pounding his shaking body with rough thrusts until his own orgasm rushed through him like an electric shock, leaving his knees tingling and his heart pounding and a sweet ache in his balls that was so good it almost hurt.

Greg managed to summon enough energy to pull out and get rid of the condom before flopping on his back next to John and closing his eyes.

“Bloody hell,” said John, still breathing heavily.

“Mm,” said Greg coherently. He closed his eyes. The room stank of sex.

………………….

“Bollocks.”

There was a dip of the bed and a muffled thump as John’s feet hit the floor.

“Are you alright?” Greg decided to wait on opening his eyes until he knew if the situation warranted it.

“It’s quarter to one! I’ve got to run if I’m going to make lunch. And I won’t have time to change.” 

_Ah, good, not an emergency._

Greg yawned. “Do you want to keep some clothes here? I can clear a drawer or something if you want. Plenty of space.”

“Ok,“ said John. The bed dipped again as he sat down, and Greg’s last thought as he fell asleep was to wonder why John sounded surprised.


End file.
